Alain
slowly comes out of his combat crouch, as the dwarven priest extracts his axe
from the deathblow. Kneeling on one knee, Alain places his blood smeared blade
on the ground, not quite letting the tip enter the earth. Bowing his head he
prays, ‘Thank you, all you Gods who have brought us through this danger.’
Lifting his head, he gently kisses the hilt of his rapier.

Amiel immediately sheathes her sword
and runs to where Baulin lies. She snarls several choice curses when she sees
the pool of blood under him. She kneels and moves to roll him over to his front
but suddenly remembers her responsibilities.

“If any one has ANY healing
spells or similar skills left, Baulin needs it...and needs it now!” she
calls to the rest of the party. “The rest of you secure the perimeter.
In between that thing’s screams and the noise of the fight, half of Cormyr
will shortly descend on us. Let’s be prepared for that!” she directs
as she begins to examine Baulin’s wounds.

Declan sighs, and turns away from
Amiel and Baulin. He moves to the edge of the campfire and contemplates lighting
the wood stacked there. They probably aren’t going to get any more sleep
this night anyway, he figures.

Stunned at the sight of Baulin’s
crushed and broken fall, Malk’s shoulders slump as he turns to obey Amiel’s
orders. He picks up his sword and moves to watch the perimeter, almost wishing
for something to vent his grief and anger against.

Salik moves towards Amiel and puts
his hand on her shoulder. “You directed the battle like a true leader,
Amiel. You did good despite a less than perfect first instinct...can we be a
little more discreet next time?”

The rogue sheaths his daggers in
his green sash and draws his trusty scimitar then goes off in the direction
his daggers flew—hoping that his sharp eyes will see them even in the
darkness. His head twitches this way and that straining to hear for sounds of
any threat.

Tiron shakes his head in disapproval,
his confidence battered by his inability to hit the huge, towering beast, while
his lack of skill resulted in the injury of a friend…his friend! The half-elf
snaps his head up and runs to where he left the healers bag.

“Alain, you said you have some
skills in the healing arts, most likely more than myself, please take this and
help Baulin!” he exclaims, returning to the warrior. Tiron’s distress
shows on his features as his former calm manner bleeds away with Baulin’s
savage wounds.

Looking up from the carnage left
by the battle, the elation of victory coursing through his body as well the
distress of a fallen shield brother, Alain starts at hearing his name from the
half-elven warrior priest. “I am sorry my friend, I have never professed
any skill in the healing arts.”

“Solonor Thelandira, help us!”
Tiron moans - a plea, not an oath, as the priest stands over the fallen dwarf.

Velgardrin runs to his pack, yanks
his healer’s bag out, and runs back to Baulin with it. The priest frantically
applies poultices and bandages to bind the wounds.

After he has finished administering
to his comrade’s bleeding, Velgardrin holds Baulin’s wrist for a
few seconds. He is relieved to detect a pulse – but it is very faint and
somewhat sporadic.

“We must get herm off the ground
and onto a litter so that he can begin a healing rest,” the priest announces
to the others who stand nearby.

Next he turns to Amiel, reaches out
with his right hand, grabs a handhold on her collar, and the muscles on his
arm bulge as he pulls strongly until her face is level with his. Firmly with
no trace of emotion or accent he says, “Please set standard battle procedures
before we leave this camp.”

He releases her and continues, “It
is likely that this beast could have killed any or even all of us. But we must
learn from this lest that does happen next time.”

Moving up to Velgardrin, Alain puts
an easy companionable hand on his shoulder. “Peace my friend,” the
warrior cautions in a controlled voice.

Velgardrin nods wordlessly and then
bends to remove the claws from the owlbear’s paws. After a few moments,
he stands again, a score of bloodied claws in his hands.

“These be ter remember Baulin’s
bravery and we be his shield mates,” the priest announces.

“If I may see those, I have
some small skill with leather working,” Alain offers. “I will place
each claw on a thong, that we might wear around the neck.” He tentatively
holds out his hand and waits for Velgardrin’s reply.

Velgardrin turns to Alain and offers
his hand in a gesture of friendship. “Iffern you felt I was angry ‘tis
not so. Should Baulin be dead, it was a way for a warrior to end. And the gods
know this.”

Then the dwarven priest gives the
claws to Alain. “ ‘Tis thankern you I am and methinks Baulin would
approve. I thinks one claw fer each who wants one and the rest to Baulin in
death or life. What think all of ye?”

Alain reaches out to accept the claws.
“I think it is a good idea. I will begin making the necklaces as soon
as I get a chance.” After taking the claws, Alain begins patrolling the
perimeter of the camp as Amiel asked.

He briefly nods to Salik, who is
returning from his unsuccessful search for his hurled daggers. Apparently, the
forest has claimed the weapons for its own.

The sound of someone clearing his
throat breaks the uneasy silence that follows in the wake of Alain and Velgardrin’s
exchange. “So what’re we gonna do next?” Cob asks. “And
just how many days do ya think we can go on like this?”

“There’s still half the
night left before daylight!” Amiel snaps sharply as she cradles Baulin’s
still form. Her eyes are narrow dangerous slits. The dwarf’s blood has
now covered and stained her leather armor. A great smear of it runs across her
cheek but she seems to be unconcerned by it as she continues in a far more gentle
tone.

“Does anyone feel we should
make a retreat back to the keep tonight?” she asks. “Or should we
wait out the night and head back at day break. I think you’ll all note
that I no longer wish to try for the caves or the trail tomorrow.”

On his way out of camp for guard
duty, Alain swings over to his pack and retrieves his weapons kit. Pulling out
a polishing rag and a sharpening stone, he kneels and begins work on his weapons.

Continuing his work on his rapier,
Alain responds to Amiel’s suggestion. “I do not wish to sound like
a mercenary but I must point out a cold hard fact. That unless there was a lot
of gold in the bag that we retrieved from that bird woman, then we are almost
out of money. I believe that if we go back to the Keep and are unable to buy
good ale, Baulin will awake from his death sleep and strangle all of us with
our own boot laces.”

Giving a quick smile, Alain continues,
“In all of the lore that my uncle passed on to me, almost every monster
has some form of treasure. If it is not carrying it with them then it is usually
in their lair. With this in mind, and the state of our purses, I propose that
if this monster is not carrying any treasure that we seek out its lair. I know
it could possibly be dangerous…”

Alain pauses from his lecture and
looks each of his new friends in the eye. “…But I would rather fall
on my sword here and now than crawl back to the Keep asking for protection and
begging for a meal.” Looking grim, Alain continues to polish his rapier.
“A monster that big probably doesn’t range too far, so with light
– and a little luck – it should not take that long.”

A sudden thought occurs to Amiel
and she pulls a pouch of her belt, undoes the tie by pulling it open with her
teeth, and empties the pouch onto the ground beside her.

Lifting up a small vial for all to
see she says, “This may contain a healing balm or potion. I found it after
I slew the bird woman. I’m not sure how we go about ascertaining such
a thing. But it may be Baulin’s only chance! Can anyone help?”

Declan has kneeled beside the firewood
and it striking flint and steel to tinder in an attempt to light the fire. He
looks up at Amiel’s words.

“Aye,” the mage concurs,
“we need ter be vigilant for the bloody rest of the night and then head
back ter the keep. I don’t know about yer, but free attacks by monsters
in the past day or so is more than coincidence. The Keep we need ter go to,
right, if for no uvver reason than ter better rest ourselves so we will be prepared.”

With a spark, the small tinder pile
that the mage has compiled starts to burn. Slowly but surely, the fire begins
to build anew under the mage’s eager eye.

Velgardrin grasps his holy symbol
in his right hand and raises it to the sky. The dwarven priest reverently speaks
briefly in Dwarvish and he gestures to include the entire group but especially
Baulin.

Seeing the dwarven cleric begin a
prayer, Alain rises to one knee and bows his head over the hilt of his rapier.
Hearing the benediction and needing all the blessings he can get, Alain replies,
“Amen.” Once again, the big warrior gently kisses the hilt of his
sword before returning to his worldly duties.

Finished with his prayer, Velgardrin
glances at the vial and responds to Amiel. “That be a possibility but
I prefers to be more cautious right now.”

Velgardrin responds to Alain with,
“Mehaps we should ask Tiron whether these be solitary beasts er lair in
great groups. A group in a lair be our death I fear.”

Listening to the talk in the camp,
but keeping his watch towards the north, Malk addresses the group. “We
have lost our comrade – we should give him the best burial that we can.
I do not know the ways of dwarves, but there are those here that do. For safety,
I believe that this should happen at daybreak. If it is permitted, I would accept
one of the claw remembrances of Baulin and wear it with pride. I would also
wish to play a tune over his grave to honor him on his way if that is the way
of dwarves.”

A distinct sniff is heard before
Malk continues, “I am with Cob in that we need rest and recuperation in
safety. We cannot continue without. We could also use supplies. If we do not
return to town, then we should camp somewhere safer for a while, and hunt to
stock our food stores – and for those with magic to recharge themselves.”

Velgardrin responds to Malk with
a gentle pat on the back. “Baulin be hurtin’ bad but he be not dead
yet. There still be hope.”

Then the stout figure turns to Tiron.
“What be your thoughts on giving the liquid to Baulin? I be thinkern that
not be a good thing fer we has no idea what it may be. Also, why don’ts
yer check him over ter see if I missed anything?”

“I am afraid I am not nearly
the healer that you are,” Tiron responds to Velgardrin. “I will
trust to your judgement. And as for the potion…I will concede to the others’
wishes. It may indeed kill him – but it may not, as well.”

Turning to Alain, the half-elf then
says, “Owlbears are horrible creatures; some say the result of evil experiments
of dread wizards. For that reason, I would not seek to find its home –
as its maker my also be there. As well, they do on occasion live in broods of
two or more. Again, seeing what just one of these has done to mighty Baulin,
I would not encourage deliberately hunting one down.”

Alain rises from his weapons maintenance
and approaches Amiel. Bending down, he uses his cleaning rag to clean the blood
from her cheek. “Amiel, this night has severely tested you. Get some sleep;
I will ensure the camp is guarded.”

Moving to the newly rekindled fire,
he looks to the rest of the company. “Declan, go get some sleep; we will
need your magic at its full strength come the marrow. Velgardrin, the same with
you; Baulin needs your healing magic as soon as it can be rendered. Malk, your
wounds need the healing powers of sleep, so off to bed with you. Tiron, I believe
you are also blessed with healing magic, go get some sleep.”

Gesturing to each member as he speaks
of them, Alain makes small shooing motions. “Salik and Cob, you will each
stand a guard with me. Cob, I would have you first, your hunters’ vision
will be of most use in these hours of darkness. Salik, I will awaken you when
it’s time. The decision of our course tomorrow can better be made with
heads cleared by sleep.”

Finished with speaking, Alain motions
Cob to guard one side of the camp, while moving off to stand his watch on the
other.

At Alain’s words, Malk returns
from watching the northern perimeter. “Thanks Alain. I am hurting, but
not as badly as Baulin – I pray to Milil for his life. In this state,
I am of little use to the company. However, I can stay with him through the
night? I can rest while being beside him, and will call you others at need.
In this place and time I do not have the comfort of my music. To do this would
make me feel better.”

“Thanks for putting the guard
roster together, Alain,” replies Amiel. “See that you follow his
instructions, lads” she says to the rest.

Turning back to Alain, she says,
“Testing as this night has been, I will still take a guard shift. The
second one, with Salik. I promise I’ll try and get some sleep, even though
I doubt that I will.”

Suddenly remembering something, she
scoops the silvery coins from the bird-woman’s pouch and counts them.
Indicating the coins to Alain, she continues, “I hope this puts us into
sufficient funds for a short stay at the Keep as I doubt very much that bear
thing ever collected gold the way other creatures do.”

Malk settles down next to Baulin
with a determined look on his face. He gently checks his breathing, leans back
against a tree and closes his eyes.

Velgardrin also moves near Baulin
with his bedroll. He almost collapses in tiredness, but is not too tired to
remember to clean his axe before sleeping. Then he falls asleep with his fingers
gripping the handle.

* * * * *

Along
the East Way
Near Kendall Keep, Kingdom of Cormyr
Early Morning, 187h Day of Mirtul; Year of the Tankard (1370 DR)

Thankfully, the night passes without
further incidents. When morning comes, the small and haggard band is greeting
by a light rain that brings a slight chill to the air and causes a persistent
hissing to emanate from the campfire which has been kept burning all night.

A check of Baulin’s condition
reveals that he has mercifully made it through the night. The brave dwarf is
still unconscious, however, and his breath comes in ragged and sporadic gasps.

Velgardrin moves to a quiet area
on the edge of camp for his morning devotions. [30 min]

Rubbing his haggard face, Alain squints
into the morning light and lifts his hands over his head for a long stretch.
Moving over to his pack, he grabs his toiletry bag and moves off to one side
of the camp. With a little water from one of his skins, Alain performs a quick
shave. Feeling a little more human after his long night, Alain watches the various
users of the arcane begin their prayers and studies into secrets he cannot fathom.
Slowly shaking his head, he crosses over to Salik.

“It looks as if they will be
at their morning absolutions for awhile,” the Cormyrean warrior tells
the rogue. “If you will continue to keep an eye on the perimeter, I will
try and catch forty winks. Check and see if Amiel or Cob can give you a hand.”

Seeing that things are in order and
that he is not needed for the moment, Alain grabs his blanket and lies down.
Propping his head on his pack, he pushes his wide brimmed hat forward until
it covers his eyes. With visions of feats of valor and courage filling his mind,
Alain slowly drifts off to sleep.

Malk opens eyes that feel as if some
demon has poured sand inside them and glued the lids together. As soon as he
is up and functioning to a degree, he reaches over and checks Baulin heartbeat
and breathing. Elated at finding Baulin and himself still within the plane of
Faerun, Malk climbs gingerly and stiffly to his feet. He checks himself over,
grimacing at the puncture wound in his stomach. He gently stretches and flexes
his protesting muscles and walks over and checks his pack.

From his pack he removes his towel
and a water-skin. He gives himself as good a wash as he can to freshen himself
up, rinses some water around his mouth and spits into the bushes.

Beginning to feel almost human, he
takes his water-skin and gently washes Baulin's face, neck and wounds. He even
begins a tentative whistle. He tries to ease a little water between Baulin's
lips. Somehow things look a little better in daylight. Even the dismembered
body of an owlbear.

“This adventuring business
isn’t as glamourous as it’s made out to be,” growls Amiel
disgustedly underneath her breath. The ranger looks mournfully up at the drizzling
heavens.

“Alright, gentlemen,”
she says briskly, snapping from her bleak mood. “Let’s pack up and
get back to the Keep. I’ve sufficient coin to cover our needs there. We
need a litter for Baulin. When Vel finishes praying, I will need him to make
one. I’ll help him. We’ll see if we can use dry materials.

“Cob, Salik, Alain –
maintain guard whilst we get this done. Dec and Tiron, I presume you will need
to spend this time regaining your spells. Tiron, please ask for a spell of healing
for Malk.

“And speaking of the good bard;
Malk until Tiron heals your wounds, my friend, stay with Baulin. You are still
injured...any questions anyone?”

Salik thinks back to the meager pile
of coins that Amiel was counting in sadness the night before. “It’s
a shame that owlbears don’t carry cash...we could use some,” he
says glumly.

Suddenly his expression brightens,
and he rummages in his belt pouch to produce the earring that his sharp eyes
found on the flying beast earlier. “We’ve still got this thing...I
reckon it’s worth about eighty gold or so. Hopefully that should be sufficient
to get our party back on its feet.”

Salik goes and has a last look for
his missing daggers now its light hoping the daylight might help somewhat.

As if on cue Malk’s stomach
growls in protest, and reminds him that even with his stomach wound he is hungry.
He addresses the company, “How does owlbear taste? Is it any good? Or
do we need to hunt today?”

After receiving negative –
to say the least – responses to the idea of cooking the owlbear, Malk
surrenders the idea. Instead, he cleans his equipment and then sharpens his
sword. As he works, his stomach continues to growl.

The bard spends a quiet half an hour
propped against a tree reading a small leather bound book that he takes from
his pack, carefully shielding it from the rain. He whistles quietly under his
breath at what appear to be the difficult bits.

After about three candlemarks or
so, all of the spellcasters have finished with their praying and studying. One
by one, they move to rejoin the group. Salik also returns, having had little
luck in finding his missing daggers.

Amiel returns from her foray into
finding branches for the litter. Now that Velgardrin is finished praying, she
hopes to get the construction started. Seeing the spellcasters returning, she
gently nudges Alain awake so that he can participate in any ensuing discussions.

Starting awake, Alain reaches for
his weapons. Noticing that it is his companions gathered ‘round and not
a troop of bloodthirsty orcs, he relaxes. Nodding to Amiel, Alain roles out
of his blankets and climbs to his feet. He rubs his eyes and begins listening
to the conversation.

Velgardrin moves straight to Baulin
and gently lays one of his hands on the unconscious dwarf while holding his
holy symbol in the other. He offers a brief prayer of thanksgiving and asks
for Baulin’s healing.

In response, the familiar white-hued
radiance of Clangeddin’s aura flows over Baulin’s still form. After
the radiance has faded, some of the color has returned to Baulin’s face.
As well, his breathing has become much more regular. The dwarf still remains
unconscious, however.

Tirondalin rises from his prayers
with a long stretch followed by a short grumble at the bland trail rations that
constitute this morning’s breakfast. With a mouthful of dried cereal he
exclaims a muffled, “Mmph” and walks over to the unconscious Baulin,
leaving his food behind as he sees Vel’s healing of the other wounded
dwarf.

Taking his holy symbol in hand, the
half-elf’s eyes rise to the skies and a soft prayer is issued from within,
flowing words that featherfall upon one’s ears and serving to calm and
soothe. The benefits of the ritual are lost upon Baulin, however, as his condition
does not change.

Confused, Tiron realizes that it
his Solonor’s will that Baulin’s own god or gods see him through
this day before allowing any more healing miracles to take effect. “My
thanks, Solonor,” the half-elf finishes softly before returning to sit
at the base of a tree, and resuming his breakfast.

When Velgardrin and Tiron have finished
with their healing act, Declan moves to join the rest of the group. “So,”
the mage begins. “What are we to do today then? Town or caves?”

“Town,” replies Amiel.
“Anyone got any objections?” she asks, head still down busily crafting
Baulin’s litter.

“No,” replies Malk.

Watching Amiel construct the litter,
Alain replies, “I would rather not return to town just yet. But, if that
is your and the group’s decision, then I will abide by it.” Having
said his piece, Alain turns and begins packing up his gear in preparation for
leaving.

“No objections,” agrees
Salik, “I think it’s probably wise to regroup and recover considering
the condition we’re in.” He glances off in the direction of the
caves.

“However, if there are bandits
in these caves, they might have been alerted to our presence and come to investigate
us. For this reason, I’d like to scout the area behind us to make sure
we’re not being followed. Do you think it’s a good idea Amiel?”
he looks at Amiel questioningly looking for approval.

“That’s a good idea,”
agrees Amiel. “Just be careful as you’ll now be on your own. Tiron
and I will still be out front on point. Alain, I’ll leave you to take
care of the main body. Arrange the order of the march as you see fit.”

Tiron’s contribution to the
issue of the party’s next destination is with an easy finality. “I
agree Amiel. As much as I enjoy the wilderness, I feel we need to reassess our
situation and consolidate our resources,” he states with a vocabulary
that defies his rustic appearance.

Feeling rested, the half-elf packs
his ruck and then dutifully assists Amiel in the construction of the litter
with a short aside in her direction. “Good job with the leadership, boss,”
he winks.

Velgardrin walks up to Amiel and
speaks in his normal gruff-sounding voice. “I agrees that we should return
ter the Keep and report as well as get supplies. We still needs ter set basic
combat procedures so we all knows what to do to get the best of monsters. I
agree that scouting more is good and will place Clangeddin’s dweomer of
warning to me on one or two scouts so that we may aid them should that be needed.

Lastly I'm wonderin’ if we
should send someone ahead to the Keep to get the ass. It could pull Baulin’s
litter lots faster than us carryin’ it.”

Malk looks up quickly on hearing
a reference to his ass. “My ass can be a real pain, especially around
strangers.”

He grins and adds, “I’m
prepared to go and fetch it out here but I’d be a bit concerned about
splitting the company. And with my gnat bite, I may not be that fast myself.
Is anyone else skilled with animals?”

Tiron perks up at Malk’s request,
“I would gladly return to the keep to fetch your donkey, Malk, as I was
brought up around animals. That is if Amiel would agree to my offer?”

“Hmmm,” Amiel replies,
as she considers the suggestions. “As tempted as I am to avoid a long
painful effort of carrying the litter, I’m more concerned about splitting
the group. Particularly seeing that we’re a man short. And it’s
not as if we’re going to set a cracking pace with the ass dragging Baulin
anyway. The animal’s pace would still have to slow to avoid him getting
bounced around,” she finishes.

Giving Amiel a quick smile, Alain
voices some concerns. “Its not so much a marching order as much as everyone
start carrying the litter. The last time we had to carry someone, it was pretty
touch and go as far as weight. Velgardrin how much extra weight can you carry
along with all your equipment? Could you also check Malk to make sure he is
completely healed before he tries to help with the litter?”

Then, letting her eyes rove over
Alain’s powerful frame, she adds with brief smile, “And I’d
say that you’ll be able to carry some of his, yours, as well as take the
litter, bladesman.”

Giving a half bow, Alain tips his
wide brimmed hat in the hope that it will cover the light blush that covers
his grinning face. “Your praise flatters me.” Trying to regain his
composure, Alain continues, “I will always give my best to the party.”

Then, to give his blushing face a
chance to return to its natural shade, Alain begins rummaging through Baulin’s
equipment. After several seconds of testing one item then another, Alain straightens
and begins handing things to Amiel. “Here is his battle axe, bow, and
his shield.”

Amiel accepts the weapons from Alain
wordlessly. Her sea green eyes, however, are playful. “Allocate his arrows
to one of our other short bow users,” she tells him as she slings the
bow over one shoulder and hooks the battle-axe onto her belt. Hoisting Baulin’s
shield, she regards it sadly for a moment before sliping her left arm through
its strap.

Smiling at Amiel, Alain says, “That
feels about right.” Looking around at the rest of the party, he asks,
“Alright, who is next?”

Velgardrin replies, “I be already
loaded like Baulin. Yer should be knowin’ that. Yer carried me.”
He grins. “I’ll try ter take his pack and weapons. Me ass’ll
be draggin’ when we gets to the Keep. I’d rather Malk’s ass
were draggin’ stead o’ mine.” He chuckles to himself at his
joke.

“Amiel, who be carryin’
Baulin if three o’ ye be scoutin’?” he asks next. “
Malk can’t. Alain, Declan and Cob be seemin’ a bit light ter carry
it. And I’ll be loaded with gear. And speakin’ o’ scoutin’,
I still have the warning spells. Mebbe Tiron can return Malk to full health.
That would help.”

Velgardrin’s speech loses its
accent as his face becomes serious and he continues. “And we have not
yet discussed standard battle plans yet either. This is extremely important.
Resupply for our archers seems reason enough to me for a trip back to the Keep.”

Alain chuckles softly at the dwarven
priests dogged determination. “Actually Velgardrin, if we could split
the equipment up more evenly, then you can help with the litter.” Alain
reaches up and massages his shoulder. “Because, I do remember your incapacitation,
and we will need all the help we can get.”

Looking down into the rest of Baulin’s
equipment and doing a quick mental assessment, Alain adds, “If you could
either carry his pack or his suit of chainmail, then there will be four of us
carrying the litter, and as my uncle Seth says, many hands make a load light.”
Smiling to the holy man, Alain holds the chainmail in one hand and the pack
in the other.

Tirondalin is visibly eager to begin
moving but understands with a concerned frown in Baulin’s direction that
concessions must be made for the injured. “I’m unfortunately burdened
with my belongings as it is, so I can’t offer any help in carrying equipment,”
he says to the two leaders, sincerity plain on his face.

“That’s alright and thanks
anyway,” replies Amiel as she lays her hand on his shoulder briefly. “Cob,
what about you?” she asks the hunter. “Will you be able to handle
one end of the litter, as well as carry your own equipment?”

Looking from Velgardrin over to Tirondalin,
Alain nods. “Are you sure? Even help carrying Baulin’s quivers of
arrows would be of great help.”

“Unless the quiver and arrows
will fit in my pack, for all practical reasons, Alain, it would be most cumbersome
for me to fire my bow with two quivers on my pack,” Tiron replies to the
warrior.

“That excludes the other bowmen,
too then,” sighs Amiel. “How much of Baulin’s weight is in
food supplies, Alain?” she asks as he rummages through Baulin’s
things. “I don’t think we need to carry that back, so dump it. I
think now that Vel maybe right – we can’t afford to have both Tiron
and I scouting at the same time, as we’ll have a problem with sharing
the litter burden evenly.

“Why don't four of us carry
the litter – one at each corner? That way, we’ll have 230 pounds
to share amongst four. Which is some fifty-seven pounds extra each. It’ll
be slow going, but at least we’ll share the burden. Tiron will scout the
front with Salik at the rear. That leaves Alain, Cob, Dec, Vel, Malk, and I.
Vel’s height is going to make it difficult to keep the litter even. So
that most likely means that it’ll come down to Alain, Cob, Malk and I.
Vel’s suggestion of a heal spell for Malk is good one!”

The ranger looks around at the group.
“I hope that we’ll be able manage. If anyone of the aforementioned
litterbearers has an objection, now’s the time,” she finishes firmly.

Velgardrin responds to Amiel. “I’m
still guessing that yer wants me warnin’ spels cast on a scout afore us
and behind us. If not, I have two other spells available. And I thank Clangeddin
for his healing blessings that I am permitted ter share. I kin carry a bit o’
Baulin's gear and still keep walkin’. But you long-legged ones need ta
remember that I’m not so fast as yer are.”

Malk, seeing the burden that the
company seems to be trying to move under says, “In my current state I
cannot be of much help carrying the litter. Would it not perhaps be better to
form a defendable position near here and wait for my ass? If you do go for her
Tiron, her name is Haynuss and she likes carrots.”

“If I may be selfish for this
once – as I’ll be alone in scouting, that may be necessary –
shouldn’t be, but may be,” Tiron says, twisting his ring around
his finger. “So Vel, if you and Clangeddin could take care of Malk for
now? And Malk, Amiel said ‘no’ to the donkey and given what she
did to that nasty bird-woman, I ain’t gonna go over her head,” he
states cheekily with a wink in the bard’s direction.

“Thanks, Tiron,” Amiel
says to the hunter-priest, shaking her head ruefully at Tiron’s joke about
the bird-woman.

Looking to speed up the equipment
distribution process, Alain gently unbuckles Baulin’s chainmail and hands
the armor to Velgardrin. After judging the added weight of this item to his
already moderate load, however, Velgardrin returns the armor and picks up Baulin’s
pack intstead. Satisfied that he will be able to move better, albeit still somewhat
slowly, the dwarven priest choses to carry the pack in lieu of the chainmail.

Alain accepts Velgardrin’s
decision and takes the chainmail to add to his own load. The warrior spends
a few minutes strapping armor to the outside of his rucksack using a coil of
rope. When he is done with that, Alain lays Baulin’s remaining unclaimed
equipment – a swordbelt and two quivers of arrows – on the litter
with the dwarf.

After voicing finishing that task,
Alain speaks to the group. “Now, I would like to get the hide from that
owlbear. Maybe we can sell it in town; a pelt from such an animal may bring
a fine price. What do you think Cob?”

The hunter nods his head slowly.
“I reckon so,” he says in affirmation.

Motioning to Cob, Alain draws a dagger
and moves toward the downed creature. “Well, give me a hand skinning him
and we will use his pelt to raise a toast to the gods.”

“Alrighty,” Cob replies.
Then he draws his hunting knife and starts to help Alain skin the slain creature.

As the others prepare themselves
for the march, Alain and Cob take the skin from the owlbear. They drape the
fifty-pound pelt over Baulin’s unconscious form, ensuring that the dwarf
will be kept warm during the trek back to the Keep.

As he sees to the final preparations,
Alain notices that Malk still holds a bloody bandage to his stomach. The warrior
looks to Velgardrin and Tiron. “I believe you have both already stated
your views on the subject, but we really should see to Malk’s wounds before
we move out.”

Velgardrin answers Alain. “Aye,
I’ll heal herm more if he’s not full well.”

Tiron claps the stocky dwarf on the
shoulder, “Don’t worry short one, Solonor shall care for Malk’s
wounds. But in return, you owe me the story of this Clangeddin Silverbeard,
fair?” half-elven priest asks with a broad smile as he strides over to
Malk.

“Don’t move,” he
says quietly to the bard, “if this spell goes wrong you could really be
injured.” But the grin that grows on his face betrays the jest, as he
begins to work his holy magics. The familiar glow of calm and warmth surrounds
Malk, an aura that exudes peace and goodness – the birds chirp and a soft
breeze carresses the adventurers’ faces and stirs their hearts in the
presence of the divine. But as soon as it came, the aura dissipates, taking
with it all of Malk’s pain.

Bowing to Velgardrin, Malk says “I
thank you for the offer and would never refuse Cangeddin’s blessing, however
I can move freely again I respectfully suggest that you keep his blessing for
a time of greater need.”

Then, taking his first really deep
breath for some time, Malk relaxes and grins at Tiron. “I have the greatest
respect for Solonor, and now full reason to be grateful. I thank him and you
for the healing. I was really hurt but did not want to make a song and dance
about it, especially compared to brave Baulin’s state. To show my gratitude
– what does the company wish me to carry?”

In the wake of Malk’s return
to full health, Velgardrin addresses Alain and Amiel. “I remind ya that
I have two o’ Clangeddin’s blessings to bestow on our front and
rear guards,” he tells the party leadership.

“I hope you’re feeling
well enough to take one end of the litter, Malk,” Amiel says, raising
her eyebrows, “since no-one’s got any problems with the four of
us -- that’s Malk, Alain, Cob and I – taking the the litter.

“The day grows old, so let’s
get going,” the ranger orders. “Vel, please cast that scout spell
on Tiron – and Salik too, if Clanggedin wills it. Tir, stay one hundred
paces ahead of us. Salik, the same behind us. If you see something, please don’t
try to do anything by yourself. Vel’s spell should alert us if you get
into trouble; expect aid to arrive within sixty heartbeats. Vel, please take
up a position five paces behind the litter. Dec, five paces in front. Any questions
anybody?”

With no further objections, Velgardrin
proceeds to cast his protective spell upon each of the scouts – both front
and rear. With this Clangeddin’s blessing, he explains, the dwarven priest
will instantly become aware of any danger that may threaten the recepients.

Then, with Tiron on point, and Salik
bringing up the rear, the party begins to make its way slowly back toward the
road. Velgardrin and Declan walk behind and in front of, respectively, the litter
containing Baulin while Amiel, Alain, Cob, and Malk, all take up a corner of
the litter and begin walking.

The litter bearers have staggered
only a few paces, however, before Malk cries out in agony and calls for a stop.
The party soon realizes that the bard cannot bear the weight of his corner alone.

Attempting to rectify the dilemma,
Declan steps in and helps Malk with his corner. Picking up the litter once again,
the party starts to move forward. This time, they are able to sustain forward
progress although they are slowed nearly to a crawl as Declan and Malk struggle
with their share of the burden.

At this snail’s pace, the party
picks its way through the forest and returns to theEast Way traderoad. Fortunately,
the road allows for a slight increase in the movement rate but even at this
new speed, the litter bearers are hard-pressed to keep up with even the moderately
encumbered, short-legged Velgardrin. Ironically recalling his earlier statements,
Velgardrin slows his pace to that of the quintet of litter bearers.

Lady Tymora smiles on the party and
they encounter no other travelers or enemies along the road. After nearly four
hours of agonizingly slow progress, the exhausted band of adventurers arrives
at the gate of Kendall Keep.

The content of Company of the Silver Claws is the property
and copyright of Brian
Flood, and are not to be published or redistributed without
permission.